


Spite

by Zhanael



Category: RWBY
Genre: Definite mentions of death, Gen, One of the few times I'll actually say "I reject your reality and substitute my own", Some mention of bodily waste, Still some grossness toward the start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 09:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhanael/pseuds/Zhanael
Summary: We all know Sienna lived, right?  Right.  Well, here's the story of how--out of sheer will and spite for the bull.  Reposting after significant rewrites of the third act.





	1. Part One

How long had she been dying? Sienna wasn’t sure, but gods, it felt like a thousand years. She had no concept of time, no real awareness of her surroundings. All she knew was darkness, and pain. Her heartbeat was slow, slower than it should ever have been, almost too slow to pump her blood-- _almost_. There was already darkness, there was already silence–-she was just waiting for her mind to fade into oblivion.

But it never came. Death never found her, alone in the dark. Perhaps she warded it off with the fierce, burning hatred that had consumed her very soul. Perhaps she was just forgotten. Whatever the case may have been, death never came, and so Sienna Khan lived.

When she was finally conscious again, it didn’t seem to be too much different than that place between life and death, at least at first. It was still so dark that even she couldn’t see, and the chill that had settled into her very bones was present here in the waking world, too. But unlike in the void, she had the rest of her senses, too.

She could smell the stench of her wound, seared shut to stop the bleeding as they’d prepared her for burial, and of the contents of her bowels and bladder her body had vacated while she floated between life and death. It was the _true_ smell of death, and it was utterly overwhelming. Her hearing returned soon after, and she could hear the rustle of cloth as she breathed and the scrape of hair against her tiger ears as they twitched. There wasn’t even the subtlest echo, though, and when she found the strength to shift her hand, her knuckles scraped cold stone.

Though Sienna couldn’t muster the energy to panic, the fear was there, threading ice into her already chill veins. Her fingers pressed lightly to the marble of what she came to realize was her tomb, and she could feel the same stone though her bare skin. Her thoughts were sluggish still, her body not quite realizing it wasn’t dead, but she was still quick to realize what that meant. She had clawed her way back from the dead out of sheer spite, only to die in truth as she wasted away in a tomb.

No one would have known Sienna would survive. As she lay at the foot of the dais, concentrating all of her aura into the wound before she lost consciousness, she heard Adam call for a proper burial for her. By some miracle, they hadn’t embalmed her, but apparently, as a martyr, they’d felt a tomb was the best way to honor her. Likely in a mausoleum, where anyone could come gawk at her, unaware that she yet lived. She could scream until she was hoarse, and no one would ever hear her.

None of those lying, traitorous sacks of _biṣṭhā_ who called themselves White Fang would ever know Sienna yet lived. They may kneel before her tomb and pray for her afterlife, but their words would mean nothing to the ears of the gods, for they came from the mouths of betrayers. They weren’t the ones to impale her, no… but they aided Adam’s coup, watched her die and did nothing, and so were just as implicit.

_No._ Spite flared in her still-beating heart, burning away the icy fear. _No. I will not die here. I won’t let them have their victory, I won’t let them have their martyr. I have to live. I have to live to bring them down, to see Adam scream as I rip his horns from his head and pluck his eyes out and cut that smirk into a Cheshire smile. I_ will _see him dead!_

Several years ago, before she’d even become the White Fang’s leader, Sienna had met a most interesting fellow. A young monk, from deep within Mistral’s high mountains, had wandered down in a journey to see the world. He’d been a panda faunus, his silky black panda ears perched atop his otherwise bald head, and it was those ears that a pair of human bandits had been trying to take, even while he was still alive. The monk, however, had fought them off, even as Sienna had watched, and when they’d gone, she’d offered to get him into the White Fang so those bandits could be put to justice. He declined, citing his desire to see more of the world before making any brash decisions like that. She hadn’t understood his decision, but respected it, and instead offered to escort him to Mistral. On the way, he taught her many things, but chief among them had been the ability to meditate.

She put that ability to work now; with only the company of darkness and silence, Sienna had little to distract her, save for the deep, consistent pain of her wound. But that was what she concentrated on, focusing her aura again. She knew she didn’t have much air, and so she measured her breaths, trying to keep from using it all before she could free herself, somehow.

Gradually, she healed. Sienna still had no concept of time, no idea how long she stayed within that tomb, _willing_ her body to heal. But it worked, enough that, just as her head began to swim, her wound had closed entirely. Now, she could concentrate what remained of her consciousness and her aura on trying to lift the lid, if only to get just a little more air–-

Sienna knew she had no strength left. She knew she would die. But she wouldn’t die without fighting every inch of the way. Sucking in one last breath, fighting the swirling colors and stars in her vision, and pressing both hands and knees onto the lid of the tomb, she summoned all the remains of her strength and aura, and _heaved_.

It was all in vain, though. She had nothing left, not enough to free herself. She’d thought she felt the lid give, at least a little, but no doubt it was just a trick of her dying mind. When the last of her breath, the last of her strength, and the last of her aura finally failed, she felt her consciousness fade again for the last time. She couldn’t even spare the energy for a final thought.


	2. Part Two

Once more, death eluded Sienna Khan. Once more, she woke in blackness and in silence. But to her own utter surprise… she _woke_. She’d been so sure she would die, asphyxiated after spending all her remaining strength to try to escape the tomb. Had she really moved the lid as much as she thought she had?

Evidently, the answer was yes. After a few moments, she realized that she felt air brushing at her hair and ears, pressed through the narrow gap between the lid and the bed of her tomb. It brought tears to Sienna’s eyes, though she didn’t have the strength to cry. She would live. She would survive. Once she was strong enough, she would be able to get herself out.

But getting the strength to move again would prove difficult. Sienna had no food, no water, and she was at risk of other nastiness from laying there so long while her body’s reflexes continued as she was comatose. She would starve if she just waited, and she knew no one would find her–unless the smell of death was escaping, she still wouldn’t be heard and the crack was too small to see in the torchlight they favored in the White Fang headquarters. No, now that she was awake again, she would have to do this herself. Once more, there would be no relying on anyone else.

Sienna still had her aura, at least. Her body may not have had any strength, but her soul still had plenty of fight left. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to maintain it for long… but hopefully, it would be just long enough.

Although it made no difference, Sienna closed her eyes and took in a deep, slow breath. She fell into a meditative state, but she focused on her rage, her anger, her spite for Adam. A dark orange flicker passed along her body from head to toe, and she pressed her hands to the lid of her tomb once more. With every last ounce of strength she didn’t have, she heaved again.

At first, nothing happened. But then air began to rush in as the rest of the seal was broken. Sienna took several deep breaths of that air–not warm by any means–-and, inch by inch, kept lifting up the lid. Soon enough, there was about a foot and a half of space for Sienna to crawl through. Her eyes cracked open and she hissed at the torchlight; after so long in darkness, it felt like looking directly into the sun. But the pain was welcome, since it meant she was alive.

Her aura flickered, and Sienna knew she didn’t have much time; it was already waning. She slowly, carefully, lifted herself from the cold stone. Her arms trembled to hold her weight, but she forced herself to keep moving. Twisting, she snarled as her wound flared in pain, both front and back; she knew it would reopen with this effort, but she didn’t care. She needed to get out.

One arm after another, Sienna pulled herself to the lip of the tomb and looked down. It stood in the center of a mausoleum, as she expected, with many torches lining the walls in sconces and standing erect at each corner. This was the largest in the catacombs under the headquarters, she realized.

_How kind of them._

Sneering, Sienna finally struggled to pull her weight over the lip of the tomb, and looked down. She was at least five feet off the ground, so it would hurt when she landed. But she didn’t care; she was already in agony as her midriff scraped over the stone, leaving a trail of blood smearing over her front. Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned her effort once more, and with both arms and legs, she launched herself over the lip and into thin air. She landed hard at the foot of the tomb, rolling about a foot away, and at the same time, dark orange flickered across her form–her aura was spent. The lid slammed back down with a loud _clunk_ , and a few candles that had been resting on it toppled over onto the floor.

The world spun around her, and Sienna’s vision darkened again with the pain that threatened to overwhelm her. But she wasn’t done yet, and she refused to pass out again. She could see the exit just a short distance away. Forcing herself back onto her belly, and pausing only long enough to let the nausea pass and for her vision to brighten again, she slowly pulled herself toward the arching door that led to her tomb. After only another foot or so, her muscles gave out, and the pain was too much. Then, Sienna’s vision went black, and with a rushing in her ears, her mind retreated once more into the darkness.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where the rewrite comes in! As you can see, it's completely different from what it was--no more Hazel or Salem. After V5 concluded, I was struggling to reconcile it with what I'd written previously, and decided that a retcon was in order. I feel like this emphasizes her independent nature more so than anything else.

Most of the candles had burned down by the time Sienna woke again. Despite that, there was still light when Sienna opened her eyes again–not the empty _nothingness_ between life and death. She could almost smile to see it.

But her strength was already waning, with her aura concentrated on her wound and leaving little else to help her recover. She needed to leave, and quickly, before anyone found her and finished the job. Slowly, carefully, and using the tomb to support her weight, Sienna climbed to her feet.

Once standing, Sienna paused to take stock of her situation. Belatedly, she realized they’d kept her cape, but dressed her in a more ceremonial garb for her burial; she’d have to find something more practical for herself later. But as she glanced around the mausoleum, she spotted Bidbēṣa coiled on display on the rear wall, its chain links freshly polished and glinting in what little candlelight remained. Its blades were lined on a pedestal beneath it, shining just as brightly as the whip.

It was the best thing Sienna could have hoped for.

Clutching her middle with one arm, she limped toward her weapon. The links rattled as she pulled it down, scraping on the floor once she did. But an expert flick brought it to curl around her wrist, and from there, she reattached the blades at the tip. There was a small, sharp hiss as the machinery inside the handle connected with the Dust crystals embedded in the blades and they flared briefly to show they were armed and ready for her to hit the trigger. Though she wouldn’t be as mobile, at least now Sienna could defend herself.

_Better than you had against Adam,_ whispered a small voice in the back of her mind, but she pointedly ignored it, instead making her way, slowly and painfully, toward the entrance to her mausoleum. Glancing back and forth, she struggled to recall her way through the catacombs.

Not long after she’d become High Leader, Sienna had relocated the White Fang’s headquarters to a small castle in Anima, far south of Mistral. It had been abandoned in the Great War, but the White Fang held a chapter there and she felt it strong enough and imposing enough to withstand all but the heaviest of assaults, Grimm or otherwise, once properly restored. With the castle came an old catacombs, not completely occupied; she’d made sure to properly map it and secure it, as there were two entrances–one from the castle, and one behind it. She’d put regular patrols along with cameras–and if Adam was half the leader she was, he would have kept them up.

Yet as she leaned on the wall near the door, listening for footsteps, she heard nothing. The patrol should have been by by now. Either they knew she was alive and was waiting to ambush her…

Or Adam was a foolish and vain leader who left his castle defenseless.

A bitter satisfaction filled Sienna as she finally stepped into the halls of the catacombs. Perhaps there may have been _some_ defenses left on the Headquarters, but personnel were stretched thin and patrols in the catacombs were cut. Whatever the case, this back door was wide open–and she would take advantage of that.

Sienna’s first thought had been to slip out the rear entrance and make her way northward. But if Adam had left the castle mostly empty, that would work to her advantage. As with any castle, there were hidden passageways and secret rooms she could make use of while she recovered. She would have access to the kitchens for food, she’d be warm and dry., And then, once she recovered…

Let those who betrayed her fear the ghost which haunted the White Fang. Sienna Khan would have her vengeance.

She couldn’t wait.


End file.
